A Day in the Life of Billy Pratt
by MikaelaLovesMusic
Summary: Billy needed his own story, that's why. Billy's the class clown at school, so naturally teachers aren't his biggest fans. But when one teacher takes it too far, what will he do to get back at him? Pranks guaranteed!
1. A Suckish Teacher Ruins an Awesome Day

**Hey guys... so I know I haven't written anything in at least a month so I'm really sorry about that. I've been really busy, but now it's Thanksgiving break. Which means I have time to write FanFics now. So don't be surprised if a lot of oneshots start poppin' up.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sammy Keyes or any of the characters in this story. I do wish I owned Billy, though.**

**Oh, and btw, it's from Billy's point of view. I found this one challenging because, you know, it's hard to measure up to someone that great! **

"BILLY PRATT YOU BETTER GET OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW OR- _OW! _Billy, ow, you suck!"

That's my psycho freako brain sister. She's seventeen, hormonal, and today her perfume is so freaking strong that I swear all the ants in my room just died right now. I just threw my history book at her- screw Mr. Velasquez - in hopes that it would get her somewhere it would hurt. Mission: accomplished.

"You can pluck your nosehairs, Mercedes," I replied back with the first comeback I could think of, considering I was still only half-awake. "I'm hibernating, so don't wake me up!"

She covers up her nose in fright. "No one's supposed to know about that!" she whines. "Besides, I just need my hair straightener that you _stole from me_, which by the way, I'm going to tell Mom on you if you keep on taking my stuff- OW!"

If you hadn't caught on yet, that was the straightener I'd thrown at her. Which by the way, does not suggest what it seems like it suggests- my English paper was crumpled in my backpack and I thought straightening it would be surefire. Did you know that paper burns in about five seconds? I sure didn't.

But I really should be getting my sleep. My therapist says that if I don't get enough sleep, my ADHD will make my body malfunction and I will explode. Or at least I think I will explode. I kind of zoned out during that part.

Before I knew it, I was asleep again.

I guess I would've never woken up if I hadn't fallen off the bed. I think was being chased in my dream and I fell. In this case, off the bed.

I look at the clock. It's already... wait, _what? _Seven fifty eight? That meant I need to be at school in two minutes.

Okay, okay, don't panic, I told myself. I run to my closet, throw on some clothes and shoes. I think for one second about brushing my hair, but my hair always looks cool, so no worries. I grab some food off the counter, swing my backpack on my back and run out the door.

I silently pray to myself that Mercedes decided to be nice today and _not _pop my tires, like she usually does with those dagger fingernails of hers as she's walking out the door. I sigh with relief as the ride is smooth.

I go double-time down Broadway, quickly saying hi to my hobo friend Steve as I swish by. Finally, I'm at school.

Without missing a beat, I lock my bike on a rack and race into my first period science class. Okay, so I was late. But sometimes, if you are smart, which I just so happen to be, you can talk through it. Watch and learn, folks.

I take a deep breath before opening the door.

Phase 1: Try and sneak in.

This one usually doesn't work, but I always add it anyway because it makes me feel sneaky, like James Bond.

But the second I walk through, my plan is foiled because Mrs. Carter looks at me square in the eye and says "Billy, you're late."

Those words activated the next phase.

Phase 2: Denial

This one works, sometimes.

"No, I'm not. I had to go to the office... for my meds and, um, I ran into Mr. Caan on the way and he gave me a lecture and stuff so..."

"Billy, no excuses. Late is late," she replies sternly.

Ok well, I didn't expect it to work anway. Mrs. Carter knows how to fish out excuses. Mainly because she's had a lot of experience with me.

When all else fails, it's Phase 3: Confuse the enemy.

This is how it goes.

"Well, techincally, you can't not know that I'm not late because I knew that I wasn't not late and so did Mr. Caan. And so did the custodian. My mom actually called to say that she knew you would think that I was late because I really wasn't, but she ended up not calling because she believed in your virtue, Mrs. Carter. You hear that? She believed in your virtue," I say innocently.

Ok, so I don't know what I just said but the whole class is cracking up so maybe this will work.

"Detention, Billy. After school."

Or maybe it won't. It was a fifty-fifty shot.

I walk over to my seat, right next to Cricket. She's snickering as I take my seat.

"Way to go, hotshot. You even had me fooled," she teases, laughing again.

I give her a face. "Ha, ha. Very funny."

"Well, someone's in a bad mood!" she retorts.

I shrug. "I woke up late and had about thirty seconds to get ready. I have the rights."

Okay, now it was time to see what I managed to get off the kitchen counter. I shuffle through my pockets and pull out one of my mom's diet bars.

"No!" I say before I can stop myself. Everyone starts laughing. I don't remember making a joke...

"Billy? Do you have something to say?" Mrs. Carter asks, her arms crossed.

"No...yes...no...maybe?" I stall. "What just happened?" I whisper sharply to Cricket.

In between laughs, she manages to say, "She just told us that Santa Claus wasn't real, and then you popped in and said... no!" And then she cracks up again.

But I am stunned. "What? Santa Claus isn't real?" This cannot be happening. First I have detention, and now this? Might as well stick a fork in me.

Her brow wrinkles. "Billy, you really didn't think that Santa Claus was real, did you?" She laughs. "Santa Claus isn't real, just like the Tooth Fairy isn't real."

"WHAT? The Tooth Fairy isn't real either? What kind of crazy world is this, where adults lie to their children?"

By now, everyone is listening to our conversation and laughing their heads off. Yeah, it's hilarious. It's completely hilarious that my childhood has now been ruined.

But I'm Billy, right? I brush it off, and answer Mrs. Carter's question. "No worries, Mrs. Car-taire. It's all cool now."

"No, it's not, Mr. Pratt. I am tired of your constant interruptions. Can't you learn to control your mouth?"

I wasn't really focused on what she said after "no", because a fly landed on my desk. This sucker was gonna burn. I take my whole backpack off my desk and smash it on the fly, several times, for good measure. You never know. Sometimes when you kill flies, you think they're dead, before bam! They pop right back up like a ninja. I can't take that chance.

But now Mrs. Carter is staring at me, and so is the rest of the class. "There was a fly, Mrs. Carter," I explain as innocently as possible.

Her brows crease together and her whole face is pretty much scrunched up in the center. "Billy, outside, now. And don't come back in until the end of the period. I can't have your constant interruptions ruining my lesson."

Here we go again. Hey, at least it wasn't Mr. Caan's office. I can handle most figures of power, but that man's head is too big for his body and I swear sometimes he's acts like he's freaking king of the world.

I walk outside, slapping hands with people who hold them out before doing a pirouette out the door. Don't ask how I know how to do one, or how I even know the name, but I just do. I'm Billy, c'mon. Whadya expect?

The door is closed, but Mrs. Carter's back is turned as she writes something on the board. I press my face to window on the door, stick my tongue out, press the thumb of my open hand to my nose and wiggle my fingers around. Everyone who is looking laughs and points at the door. I hear Mrs. Carter ask what's so funny and get on my knees so she can't see me.

"It was all your fault! You were the one who told Mr. Wolf that you didn't know what the number after six was!" I hear a girl's voice scold, but it's in a teasing way.

Another voice laughs, a guy. "My fault? You're the one who said that it was okay if he sent us outside because at least it wouldn't stink of bad teaching!"

"Yeah, I guess that's partially my fault..." the girl admits. "Hey, is that Billy?" she says.

I laugh as I look at who said it. Sammy. Sammy and Casey. "In the flesh!" I shout. Then I run to the beginning of the hall, get a running start, and rockstar slide down the hall which is suprisingly very slippery.

Casey laughs. "Hey man! What's up? Did you get kicked out like us?"

"Yeah, but I like to consider it injustice." I shrug. "What's your guys' stories?"

"Same. Injustice, a pretty dumb teacher, and Casey's big mouth," Sammy says, pushing Casey on the shoulder. He laughs and pushes her back.

"How are you guys in the same class?" I ask.

"Art," Casey answers. "So obviously the teacher hates me." He laughs again.

"Hey that sliding thing was really fun. I'm gonna do it again. Who wants to go with me?" I say, because it _was_ fun. Much funner than class. This was punishment?

Sammy shrugs. "Why not? We've already been classified as juvenile delinquents anyway."

We come to a stop, but I'm not ready for the fun to end. I turn my body down the corner of the hall, and slide.

I feel a grin come onto my face. "Okay, on the count of three, one, two, _three_!" I yell and we slide down the slippery hall.

It would've been a pretty epic ending, except there was someone in the way. Or _something_. Depending on how you liked to classify whatever I just ran in to.

It was Heather.

I guess it would've been okay, except she falls on the ground, and I hear a sickening _rip_. She didn't get hurt, but I'm pretty sure her clothes got ripped, and for her, that's just as bad.

"Billy Pratt, you suck!" she cries in anger.

"So I've been told," I murmur, thinking about Mercedes and this morning.

She looks down at her dress, which now has a big gaping tear in the front of it. Oh, crap. Just my luck. It's not just any dress, it's _the dress_. The one she wouldn't shut her piehole about all last week. The one that apparently costed her "a fortune".

I'm dead meat.

"Look what you did, Billy! I'm gonna kill you!" she shouts so harshly I was surprised steam didn't come out of her ears and her nose.

But there was no time to look. I ran away before she could get her fingernails on me. I've seen those _weapons _in action before. At the Farewell Dance two years ago, she practically dug holes in Sammy just because she didn't win some popularity contest.

"If I die, tell my mom I love her!" I shout to Sammy and Casey as I run through the doors and out onto the quad.

Okay, don't panic, I told myself. This has happened to you before. Before I can think, I run through the doors of the office. The only person I see is Marissa McKenze.

"Billy?" she asks, confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Heather... I ripped her dress... fingernails..." I manage to get out. Between running away and picturing the possible ways Heather could torture me with her fingernails, I'm completely out of breath.

Marissa nods. She knows well enough how psycho Heather is. "Get under the desk," she commands, pushing out from the desk a little to make room for me.

I don't hesitate. I squeeze under the desk, next to Marissa's white Vans. The door opens. Heather's here. I could smell her anger from a mile away.

"McKenze!" she says sharply. "Have you seen that stupid kid, Billy?"

"I'm not stupid!" I say. Marissa kicks me in the arm.

"No, why?"

Heather groans. "Look what he did to my dress! He was sliding around the halls because that's just how much of an idiot he is, and he ripped my dress. Do you know how much it's gonna cost me to replace it? I bet he doesn't even have _half _of the money this dress cost."

It was amazing how much she could insult you, even when she didn't know you were listening.

"Oh, I know," Marissa says sarcastically. "That dress is just too unique."

"Whatever, McKenze. So do you know where he is?" Heather asks impatiently.

"Where who is?"

"Billy! Were you even listening at all?"

"Oops, sorry. I was distracted at how beautiful your dress is."

"McKenze, you're such a loser."

"It takes one to know one."

"You little freak... you're just jealous because Danny likes _me_, not you." Whoa. That was so not true. Danny doesn't like anyone, he's probably only ever loved his own reflection.

"Is that supposed to make me cry?"

"Shut up, McKenze."

"Only if you do it first."

"Why am I even talking to you, loser? You need to get a life." I hear Heather's footsteps as she starts walking away.

But Marissa isn't done yet. "If you had a life you wouldn't be so concerned about mine!"

The moment the door is closed, I pop out from under the desk. "Thanks."

Marissa smirks. "It was nothing. Why am I not surprised that you're in trouble _again_?"

"The only way to explain that is that I'm Billy Pratt. C'mon. Is this really anything new?" I say as I'm walking out the door.

She laughs. "I know. But still. Try to be a good boy. I won't always be around to save your sorry butt."

I smile to myself as I walk back to class. That's Marissa. She's always got something to say back to Heather.

I manage to get through second, third, fourth and fifth period without getting into trouble. But then at sixth period, I zoned out, just thinking about random stuff. Then Mr. Bernard calls on me and says, "Billy? Are you listening? Oh, of course you're not listening. How daft of me to actually think that you were."

Okay, first, who actually says "daft"? And second, where was all of this coming from? Mr. Bernard was a mean teacher, and that was why I wasn't usually bad in this class. I know, shocking. But seriously. This guy is like a millitary dictator. He took pride in making his students cry, and his tests were always really hard. People complained about it, but I think he actually made them harder.

"I was too listening!" I lied.

"No, you're not Billy. You're never listening. You're too stupid to listen. Do any of you listen?" he says to the rest of the class.

Now I'm offended. "Hey! I may get distracted easily, but I'm... not... STUPID!"

"Whatever you say," he says sarcastically. "And for screaming at me, I want you to scrape all the gum off under the desks. Then I want you to clean the whiteboard and the windows. And in the future, _pay attention_." He laughs. It's the evil laugh.

"Billy doesn't deserve to do that! He didn't do anything wrong this time! Everyone zones out. Even I zone out! That doesn't mean you have to scrape gum!" someone retorts. I look over. It's Marissa.

"Ahh, a confession. Why don't you help Mr. Pratt scrape gum, Ms. McKenze. You can work together." he says.

"Hey, Marty!" Marissa shouts his real name. "You know what you are? You're a-"

Marty, er, Mr. Bernard, is fuming now. "Just for that, Ms. McKenze, I want you and Mr. Pratt to also clean up this mess over here." His upper lip curls.

"What mess?" I ask.

"This one," he says, and he spills his coffee all over the floor.

"Okay, done," I say, pretending it doesn't bother me. "What do you want us to use to scrape the gum?"

"You have two hands."

"What are you doing?" Marissa whispers sharply to me. "It's not right, and you know it!"

A smile creeps onto my face. "I hope you've been cooking, because we're serving Marty over here-" I jerk my thumb in his direction. "A side order of revenge."

**Well, that was unexpected. The whole Mr. Bernard thing came out of nowhere. But it's good stuff, right? I sort of expected this to be a oneshot, but I guess this works to. I'll be updating soon, so stay tuned!**


	2. Every Evil Scheme Needs a Bovine Animal

**Well, it took me long enough. Been so busy lately! But school's out (survived freshman year!) and I'll have plenty of time to write more stories.**

I sacrificed two hours of Spongebob that night. It was tragic, really, but it was for a good cause. Putting Mr. Bernard back in his place would always be a good cause.

I walk in Bernard's class with my usual swag, which is so complex and amazing that I'm going to skip over describing it so I can get back to the story.

Mr. Bernard's eyes turn to slits as I walk in. Probably of jealousy, but in spite of himself he still says, "You better be ready to work and learn without your usual shenanigans. I don't want to have to discipline you again, but I always have plenty of work for you to do in the classroom," he spits, his voice thick with hatred. I swear, with all the fire emanating just from his words, he is burning down all the houses from here to Los Angeles.

But I put on my smirk and smile a little as I say, "Your honor." I then make a big show of bowing deeply and making sure I can see my shoes like you're supposed to do in a proper bow.

"You cut that out right now, Pratt! I told you, no more shenanigans or there will be hell to pay!" he almost shouts. Realizing he is going psychopath maniac, he quickly shakes his head and turns back to the class.

_Ok, time for the appetizers,_ I think to myself. Mr. Bernard looks down at his desk to his lesson plan. My hand shoots up in the sky.

He looks up and sees me raising my hand and immediately glares. "Mr. Pratt," he calls on me. "What is it," he says, breathing in a big gust of air, his fat chest puffing up and back down. Hmm... I am so tempted to jump on his belly and see if it is bouncy.

But I still need to answer his question. I blink my eyes real hard and say as sweetly as you can to the most disgusting person you've ever seen, "I was just pointing to the ceiling. There was a fly," I lie, adding a sugary smile to put the icing on the cake.

"Mr. Pratt! I assure you that if this insolence continues, I will expel you from my class!" Mr. Bernard growls.

I think to myself quietly, _Nothing would make me happier_. But my plan won't work if I do the normal thing and just say everything I'm thinking aloud.

Besides, the next phase was to commence.

Mr. Bernard went into his normal routine of boring lecturing. The temperature of the room went up a little from all the yawning. Perfect. I could bring a little something-something Billy action into their lives.

I looked cautiously at Mr. Bernard, who was so absorbed in his scraggly handwriting to even care about me any longer. Seeing my chance, I leaned forward to Trista's desk and whispered quietly, "Melissa." I handed her a crisp pink note.

Mr. Bernard's classes have gotten this note-passing thing down to a science: to the point where we only have to name our destination and arrival is certain. Just in case, though, I carefully watch Trista pass it to Emily, Emily pass it to Lewis and Lewis finally hand it into Melissa.

Melissa looks back slightly and winks at me. She waits patiently for Bernardo to turn back and marvel at his lecturing again and when he does this, she slips the paper onto the center of his desk.

Benedict Bernard _finally _turns away from his beloved Pythagorean theorems. His eyebrows fly about a thousand miles in the air as he notices the note on his desk. Airborne eyebrows! That is a skill that is completely necessary that I master.

His lips purse like a lady's as he reads the note. "Very well," he mutters.

I give myself a victory high-five as he walks over to his phone and begins to dial the number on the sheet.

"Hello, this is Shirley Bernard-"

Everyone begins to crack up. A frightening image of Bernardino with a curly and short blonde locks pops into my head. Luckily, my defense mechanism called Megan Fox kicks in and the image is quickly erased.

BernBern sends his death glare to the the class, puts his hand over the phone and shrieks, "SHUT UP!"

The class immediately goes silent, except for a few wavering snickers.

"I was informed that I need to called his number asap. Something about my-" his voice drops to a low whisper "toenail infections."

Sorry, Nard. Nice try. People still heard you.

The class bursts into laughter.

"SHUT UP!" he screeches again. He turns back to the phone, his face slowly pinching until his eyes shoot open and his teeth clench together. "Excuse me?"

The class goes immediately silent to hear the other end of the line.

_"I'm sorry sir. I'm afraid you might have the wrong number. This the Santa Martina Zoo."_

Everyone bursts into laughter again. "SHUT UP!" Mr. Bernard practically throws a temper tantrum. "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! CLOSE YOUR FILTHY MOUTHS!"

The laughter continues. Beenard takes his precious yardstick and slams it on his desk with fury. Everyone keeps on laughing, so out of nowhere he pulls out a spray bottle. He walks down the first row and sprays right in each students' face.

Marissa is the third victim. She coughs and sputters, "What the heck? What IS that?" She starts to hack and splutter.

Everyone else seems to be doing the same. "You'll never know! Now will everyone shut their scummy pieholes?"

The half of the class that wasn't sprayed stammers, "Yes, Mr. Bernard." The other half manages to say these words in between their coughs.

"The coughing will subside within ten minutes. Now, back to the lesson."

Marissa coughs, "You're plain evil!"

The Nard turns around. "Is that so, Miss McKenze?"

Marissa nods feverently.

His lips twitch into a smile. "Good. Fear looks good on you, Miss McKenze."

Marissa practically spits. "I'm not afraid of you."

He smiles evilly and returns back to his whiteboard.

I'm staring at the clock, though. Five, four, three, two-

One.

It's starts with the beep.

Mr. Bernard's eyes widen in surprise, then return to slits. He glances all around the room, looking for the source.

Yippee! More sounds coming!

The siren comes next.

His eyes widen even more and he jumps about a bajillion feet in the air. The sound seems to be coming from inside his desk.

NardNard shuffles through his desk, desperately trying to find to source to end the sirens. Papers are all over the floor, and the class cracks up even louder than before when they see pictures of bikini-clad supermodels scatter all over the floor, including one Playboy magazine.

"Is that what you do all day, Mr. Bernard?" I ask innocently as more and more magazines begin to spill out. I hadn't planned this, but this was great.

He stops immediately, his upper lip curling as he slowly turned back to me. Even the siren seemed to be out of sight, out of mind.

Without hesitation, he swipes his spray bottle off his desk and stomps over to my desk.

I brace myself for the stinging, just like I do before my mom and occasionally Mercedes spray me.

The droplets hit my face. I'm still waiting for the impact. But my face is dripping, so it must've happened.

A smirk creeps onto my face. "Can't pull that one on me. I'm immune," I add. My eyes jump to the clock. Three, two-

One.

A sheep noise comes through, this time in a different corner of the room. Mr. Bernard seems like he is going crazy. "STAY HERE YOU INSOLENT CHILDREN." He marches down the hall, each step most likely causing a major earthquake in India or whatever we are above (below).

The room was so silent as he walked out. Well, except for the bleeping and bahhing and siren-ing.

As the door shut, everyone burst into laughter. No one could contain themselves, really. The room was like a can of soda, it had all bubbled up into this moment and now that the top had been popped, all that could really happen was an explosion of fizzy goodness.

I hear a knock on the window. I look and see my crazy cousin Norman, who lives on a farm in Sisquane. Norman wore his usual strange(ly awesome) attire, a leopard print coat with several facial tattoos of kitty cats. If you thought I was completely bonkers, wait until you meet the rest of my family. Awesomeness runs strong in the veins of the mighty Pratts.

"Already?" I say, opening the window wide. The rest of the class looks over at Norman strangely at first, but shaking their heads knowingly when they realize it was just another Pratt.

Norman nods, his eyes bugging out for no apparent reason. I sigh. Some people were just _sooo _weird.

"Well, then bring it in!" I call. Norman nods again, whistling to my other cousins Jeff and Calvin. Oddly enough, Jeff and Calvin didn't go the same route as Norman, despite them being triplets. Jeff and Calvin? Total tools. But they're buff and strong and that's all I really care about right now.

With big heavy grunts, Jeff and Calvin hauled through the window a cow.

It was kind of a mini-cow, too. You could call it the runt of the litter. It would work fine for the finale, though.

The two brothers laughed to each other, trying to show off how macho they both were. After the cow was placed inside the classroom, they kissed their huge wide biceps. Every girl in the classroom swoons and giggles. A few even wave. Being tools, Jeff and Calvin wink back, Calvin giving a pretty atrocious tongue click. I roll my eyes. "Hey don't stick around too long? I know there are some mirrors waiting for your reflections."

Norman laughs, a laugh that breaks through his nose and ends with a mucus-filled snort. I think it's time I said goodbye. With a wave and a few lingering winks from Jeff, the trio leaves.

As quickly as bovine animals can be moved, I wrestle the cow into Bernardinoweeno's supply closet in the back. I run back to my seat just as Mr. Bernard opens the door with half the administration in Santa Martina following in his wake.

NardNard opens his mouth to begin his string of complaints. "These insolent children have set off noises in my classroom, not to mention other misdemeanors. I strongly suggest these children are all _failed _from this class, the only other option being summer school. Discipline is the only way to get these _children _back in line,"

"Shirley, I do not see what you mean. I do not hear a single thing," Mr. Caan says impatiently. Luckily, my fellow classmates have restrained themselves enough to survive the mention of the name Shirley.

Bernie's eyes widen in disbelief. "But the- they just- there were just-"

"Maybe it was just a hallucination. You've had a long day today, Shirley," Mr. Caan almost sighs.

"I assure you, there must be some mistake. Those mutts must have turned off the noises-"

"I do not want to interrupt your class any longer, Shirley. I have much work to go back to as well. Good day, Shirley," Mr. Caan motions to his little posse to leave. A protesting Bernalopogous is left behind.

I can almost see the steam leaking out of his ears as the sounds return just as the door shuts. I lift my fingers slightly off the controls in my pockets.

"You think you're all so smart, huh? You guys think you can mess with me? Well, you are _wrong_," Berasaurus says, rampaging through the classroom a little bit before swiping his spray bottle off the desk and squirting a few unlucky students in the second row.

"Go, go, go!" I whisper to the boy by the supply closet door. Bernie-poo is angrily scribbling more quadratic functions on the whiteboard, pressing so hard on the marker that we can all hear the squeaks of his pen.

All the students move the cow along the rows with their hands. Luckily, the noises are still going at it so Bernaloo can't hear this.

The cow makes it's way to the front of the room, and, deciding that it is tired, plops all over the Playboy magazines Bernarda left on the ground.

Suddenly, Mr. Bernard turns around.

One look was all it took. One look at the mini-cow chomping all over blonde bikini-clad super models. He let out out a high-pitched scream.

Apparently mini-cows do not like men screeching femininely. Because this mini-cow reached over, took one chomp on Bernardindin's perfect pressed trousers, and pulled them down.

Luckily, we were all saved because fortunately Mr. Bernard does not wear tightey whiteys. Or anything similar. It was like a cartoon. Because Mr. Bernard was wearing- and I'm not bluffing- boxer shorts with hearts.

Without a word, Bernardinalino runs out, still screaming.

"VICTORY!" I shout, grabbing his spray bottle off the table, sending mysterious liquids towards the ceiling. "VICTORY!" I shout again.

"Bill-y! Bill-y! Bill-y!" the class shouts, crowding around me, practically lifting me off the floor.

And that's how you solve a problem, Billy Pratt style.

Billy out.

**Hope you liked it! Review on what ya think! I'll be brainstorming new ideas for new stories. Expect one to come soon!**


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